


Introductions

by A_Random_NPC



Series: Voidsinger [15]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Random_NPC/pseuds/A_Random_NPC
Summary: Sinnlyra Voidsinger is granted an audience with the leader of the Uncrowned.
Series: Voidsinger [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796173
Kudos: 3





	Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Sevarith Moonsorrow and Tyrvalin Duskmourn belong to @Vaethryn on Twitter.  
> You can find art of them and more at the link below:  
> https://twitter.com/vaethryn
> 
> Refsheets of the other non-canon characters can be found below:  
> https://refsheet.net/A_Random_NPC/SinnlyraVoidsinger  
> https://refsheet.net/A_Random_NPC/SyvanelGoresteel  
> https://refsheet.net/A_Random_NPC/OristinSunstriker
> 
> Some of this story is being told via in game role playing, private commissions, and artwork. Not all details will be apparent.

Lyra turned the cloak of her hood up against the morning chill and stared out into the empty streets of Dalaran, the ever present whispers in the back of her mind the only sound besides the sleepy chirping of birds. A feeling of disquiet had plagued her for days, the haunted edges of her previous life seemingly guttering like a candle begging to be moved from the wind. Everywhere she looked in the familiar, yet now strangely unfamiliar city held echoes of her life that once was, making her wonder if recovering her memories had been the wisest decision. There was an emotional chasm there, separating her from the real impact of residing once again in the city of her childhood. Certainly, Dalaran had not changed much in her absence. There was still some faint, lingering damage from where the Legion’s attacks had frayed the edges of the floating islands, but otherwise it was the same bastion of knowledge and magic it had always been. 

The errand she was on today was one she had put off for days despite the true memories that haunted her sleep like nightmares. They prompted her to pause before a small park tucked between the rows of austere townhouses that surrounded her own, remembering the last time she had seen it. It hadn’t changed much compared to her in the past two years of her absence. Some of the bushes that lined the wrought iron fence were taller, naturally, and one of the trees now sported a rope swing for the neighborhood children to enjoy. The same white marble fountain shaped like a splashing fish burbled merrily in the center of the space, the matching benches that surrounded it just as inviting for those who sought a restful place to relax at the end of the day. She watched it for a moment, a phantom wisp of memory plaguing her. Her knuckles tightened around the iron fencepost she had unconsciously grasped, her knuckles whitening as she watched the ghost of her son laughing as he ran about the garden. Perinth had loved the fountain the most, always insisting on constructing small boats of leaves and twigs to float on its surface as he imagined himself a captain or pirate off on some adventure of another. A raven ruffled its feathers as it woke, hopping down to the fountain for a drink before it fluttered overhead, its raucous caw loud in the morning silence. She watched it go, smiling to herself as she turned to leave. 

The scent of cinnamon rolls and coffee drifted on the breeze, the rich scents making her mouth water. Another memory of taking Perinth to one of the local bakeries for a treat after one of the rare times Lanthon had sent them an ample allowance made her smile. He’d barely been out of the toddler years then, and had been delighted in his own way for the treat. His bright eyes sparkling as she wiped a smear of icing from his cheek faded from her mind as she stepped out into the merchant district of Dalaran. The chill of the night air was beginning to burn off as the sun made its slow ascension in the heavens. Stained glass windows awaited the kiss of the morning sun, their colors muted in the shadows of the white columned towers that rose to impossible heights above her. The soft hush of her skirts and slippers against the worn cobblestones broke the morning stillness, though her solitary walk was soon disturbed by vendors beginning to set up their wares. Lyra recognized them all, though she kept her own face shrouded by the deep folds of her cloak. She doubted that many of them would recognize her, not even her fellow tailors she had labored beside to create yards of bandages during the Legion’s invasion. The Void had severely twisted her compared to the woman she had been then. A sudden burst of foresight had inspired her to gather everything she needed the night before anyway, when she had been in a more happy mood. The poppies that lay in her arms were tied with sprigs of rosemary, a cheerful blot against the deep black velvet of her mourning dress. Something for remembrance, she had told the flower vendor, who had carefully chosen some of the best blooms from her cart.

“Red poppies, for the blood of the fallen. Rosemary, to honor those who have passed on. May their spirits find peace and guide your steps, lady.” The young woman had said in her sweet voice as she laid them reverently in her arms. Lyra’s thanks had been slightly wooden as she accepted the blooms, but they did make a beautiful, fitting tribute for those she planned to honor. She reached down to touch one of the red blossoms, its silky petals bending slightly under her fingertip. There was little she knew about spirits or the afterlife, but these would at least brighten any grave while they lasted.

Her footsteps had carried her toward the city center, the bank at the end of the road slowly lighting up as she approached the often busy corner near the Alliance headquarters. She paused a moment to stare at the statue there, the familiar upturned face of the mage it represented barely kissed by the sun. The story of his death came back to her, though she was loath to remember it. He had sacrificed himself in Theramore, despite having a wife and children at home. Lyra shuddered, remembering the day the statue had been erected in his honor in the city. The faces of the crowd blended together in her memory, but the face of his wife and twin boys was forever etched in her mind. The feeling of unease rose as she turned instead to the cheerfully murmuring fountain behind him. The familiar grumpy sea lion surrounded by leaping fish glared at her as she fished around in her belt purse for a golden coin. Raising it to her lips, she pressed a kiss to its surface and murmured the enchantment that would inscribe her words upon its surface. The flicker of a black shadow at the corner of her sight made her pause a moment, but it was merely the raven. It landed on a shop sign overhead, peering down at the shiny object in her hand with curiosity in its every movement, making her laugh inwardly as she completed the spell.

“Peace, joy, friendship, and love. That is all I wish.” She whispered against the rapidly warming surface of the coin. Her words etched themselves into the soft metal with tiny violet and blue sparks of arcane magic, the script mimicking her own neat handwriting. Etching a wish coin had been one of the first spells she had taught Perinth many years ago. His soft cheeks had been flushed with concentration as he had performed the spell, his eyes turning a softer shade of sapphire in the presence of his power. She sadly brushed the memory aside, thinking instead of the living, those she could still help. The dead were beyond anything she could give them besides tears of grief and melancholy thoughts. The faces of her friends rose in her mind, helping her resolutely push away the pain and hold tight to the happiness she had found in her new life. With that, she tossed her coin into the fountain, watching it flash briefly before sinking into the depths of the clear water to come to rest at the bottom with other similar coins. 

She had made a very different wish there, once.

The raven cawed, sounding distressed at her throwing away a shiny object, making her glance up at it and grin. She pulled a similar coin from her belt pouch and held it up, allowing it to flash slightly in the golden light of the rising sun. The bird glided down from its lofty perch to the rim of the fountain, close enough to acknowledge that she had something for it, but still far enough away she couldn’t reach it. She set the coin on the lip and turned to walk away, the thought of wishes fading from her mind. A pleased sound drifted behind her, telling her that her offering had been accepted. Sev had once mentioned it did well to befriend the local ravens and crows wherever she was, though he chose not to specify why. Given that he never volunteered information on his own unless it was crucially important, she had tried to do exactly that. 

As if her thoughts had manifested the man himself, the scent of tobacco and leather wafted passed her as she wandered by a seemingly empty alleyway. She had wondered how long it would take one of the men who watched over her to find that she had slipped out of her home early that morning. No matter how careful she was, one of them always managed to find her before too long. If Sev wanted to shadow her today, she wouldn’t raise a fuss, though she couldn’t resist blowing a cheeky kiss in the direction the smoke had faded before continuing her walk. The raven soared overhead, the golden offering in its beak as it dipped down the alleyway behind her. A tattler, she thought as she eyed the magnificent bird. The ravens had followed her almost everywhere she went since she had discussed joining the Uncrowned with Sev. There was little doubt in her mind that they were spies, meant to keep tabs on her and her doings.

How fitting, to have a raven companion in a graveyard, she thought wryly as her winged shadow appeared once again as she finally reached her destination. She paused at the gate, staring over the bleak, shadowed enclosure sadly, remembering other times she had frequented it in the past.

“Belric and Velanore Dawnhope,” she murmured to herself in a sing-song croon as she lowered her hood to her shoulders, her grey curls drifting softly in the breeze. “Tell me, where do you lay?”

To delay the inevitable, she took her time and wandered the rows, lingering at graves that were less cared for than others. Upon discovering one that was clearly not as looked after as its fellows, she would take a few moments to brush aside vines and debris that cluttered them before moving on. She made it to the final row before finding the two familiar headstones tucked in the dour shadow of a broken wall, the markers choked and overgrown with weeds. The whispers trilled, but fell silent as she knelt to push aside the tall grass that surrounded the stones. Even had the Void not offered its warning, she would have known that she had found the right ones based on the echoes of familiarity that reverberated through her entire being after touching the night-chilled granite.

“Hello Mother, Father,” she whispered in Thalassian as she began to scrape moss from the carved names of her parents. “Your little Lyra has finally come home.”

A rustle of wings overhead told her that her avian companion had settled somewhere on the wall above her, its soft quark of curiosity less intrusive than she expected of it. Her hands moved automatically as she cut back the weeds that obscured her parents’ markers with her belt knife and scrubbed the stone with a handkerchief to remove the moss and mildew that had grown over them in her absence, leaving her mind to wander. She had known, of course, that her parents were dead the moment she had shattered the barrier on her memories in her mind. Despite that knowledge, a small part of her heart had held onto hope that someone, anyone, had been out there waiting and looking for her. Although she was satisfied with the love and comfort that grew with each passing day she had in her new found family, it had hurt to know that her own was dead and buried. Some hopes died harder than others, and touching the markers had finally laid that particular one to rest permanently.

There was no urn to place the flowers she had brought for them, an oversight she vowed to fix as she laid the bouquet at the base of the headstones, neatly arranging the flowers so they showed brightly against each marker. Only after she had cleared the mess she had made did she wash her hands at a nearby water pump and return to their graves. She settled before them, ignoring the dew and debris that soaked the fine velvet of her skirts, taking a few moments to compose herself before she began to speak.

“I am sorry for not coming sooner,” she continued in Thalassian, her fingers idly plucking a stray thread from her skirt. “It seems my brother-in-law meant for me to forget even you. Then life got… Complicated... How strange, to think of what your hopes for me had been compared to how everything turned out in the end.” She tucked the curls that covered her scars behind her ear, then drew the tentacles that writhed under her hair forward, arranging them neatly on her shoulders. They twitched in the morning air, sensing what her eyes could not. Dark violets and blacks in more shades than she could name cascaded down their surfaces, though she said nothing of the shadow magics gathering behind her. She glanced up at the raven, who had settled in to preen its feathers after seeing she wasn’t going anywhere and smiled, her scarred face bare for the world to see.

“As you can see, I’ve changed quite a bit since the last time I visited you. I’ll tell you about it sometime, when it is safer for me to be alone. It is still risky for me to be here, even now, despite how much I wanted to see you again.” She felt a flash of resentment that the two people who had attacked her were still at large, but pushed it aside. It wouldn’t do to get angry over what she could not control. All those emotions did were shove her further off balance, giving the Void a stronger foothold in her mind. Instead she allowed herself to slip into reverie, knowing someone was watching her back.

Memories drifted through her mind, making her sag a moment. Her hands fisted in her skirts as she took a moment to organize her thoughts, breathing evenly as she exerted the iron control she had gained over her mind thanks to her training in how to manage the Void. Flashes of her mother showing her how to sew, her father reading out loud to them both from books while they worked, her first halting attempts at magic, and sneaking downstairs to watch her parents slow dance in the center of the living room to music only they could hear flickered through her mind like birds on the wind. Her childhood had been full of love and joy, discovery and wonder. They had never had a lot, but always had enough, so long as they all worked together.

The harder memories came next, that of watching her mother’s tired and haggard eyes closing for the final time, her rattling, pained breathing finally falling silent after such a long struggle against the disease that claimed her life. The smoking ruin of her father’s workshop was next, haunting her, the realization that there was no way he could have survived the blast settling over her in a wave of despair. Silently, she watched her hands adding the figures up from her mother’s shop and realizing that there was no way she could keep it afloat by herself. Lanthon's face swam before her eyes, his desperate proposal to "solve all of their problems," while causing thousands more encased her heart in ice. Gritting her teeth, she allowed them to wash over her, the joyful memories and the painful ones, accepting her past.

A warm breath of cigarette smoke washed over her, warning her that Sev had finally decided to reveal his presence, though he stayed away as she sat before the graves of her parents. The raven made an odd crooning sound and took off in a flurry of wings, settling somewhere behind her. There was a soft murmur from his gravelly voice as he spoke to the bird, though the words were lost in the breeze. Lyra reached forward and broke off a small sprig of rosemary, tucking it in her lapel where its sharp scent warred with the warmth of the tobacco. It helped clear her mind enough that she was able to rise and shake off the dirt and debris from her skirt right as the sun lazily extended its rays to even this darkest corner of the graveyard.

“I will come back,” she said after kissing her fingertips and brushing each headstone. An unconscious gesture, one she had made countless times before she had disappeared. “But I at least wanted to see… To visit… I love you both, wherever you are. May you find peace in whatever afterlife there may be for you.”

Sev was casually leaning against a crypt behind her, the raven preening his hair as they waited for her to finish her visit. He had made excellent use of the shadows, the glow of his uncanny golden eyes the only true indication that he was there, waiting. They narrowed as he regarded her exposed scar and shadow magic darkened tentacles, the black mask he wore over his nose and mouth covering any hint of readable expression that could reveal his thoughts there. The raven on his shoulder cawed, mantling its wings until he reached up and scratched its keel, calming it. Lyra waited patiently for him to break the silence between them, knowing he would explain his presence in due time. She allowed herself a moment to eye his clothing with a critical eye, seeking any improvements she could make to the mottled black and grey clothing that hid him well in the shadows. He was dressed like he was on a job, though his weapons were nowhere to be seen. Not that she would see them until he decided it was time to use them, she thought wryly, and by then it would be too late. He answered the question of his presence when he finally uncrossed his arms and tossed her a black cloth hood, his eyes going as dead as the graveyard around them.

“Put that on.” His gravelly voice was oddly solemn, even for him. She opened it carefully, noting that it was double layered and oversized. Enchantments for blindness sparkled under her fingertips as she turned it in her hands. A hood, she realized with a chill, meant to keep someone blinded to what went on around them. An executioner’s bag.

“Is this the moment where my body washes up in the gutter to be rat food, Sevarith?” Her voice was calm as she met his eyes squarely. There was a slight flicker in his expression she nearly missed, a hint of exasperation. Still, she baited him, knowing that he would give her an explanation if she was patient with him. The raven preened his hair again before taking off, its wings narrowly missing her as it soared past her. She didn’t flinch, but brushed the hair it displaced away from her face as Sev’s anger warmed his expressive eyes over the mask.

“Can’t see where we’re going.” He finally muttered, his eyes flickering to the side. The tendrils on her shoulders cascaded as more shadow magics were used nearby. They were no longer alone in the graveyard, her whispers screamed, though she ignored them in favor of focusing on the voice of the friend who may no longer be a friend. Alv’s face flashed in her mind, his smirk softening into an intimate smile making her heart ache as she twisted the cloth in her hands. 

“Put it on, or have it put on you. Your choice.” Sev said gruffly, stepping out of the shadows.

“I trust you,” she replied, her voice soft enough that only he could hear as she met his glower one final time before putting the hood over her head, lowering her hands to her sides. After a moment’s pause, she felt the folds of the cloth being adjusted around her shoulder, ensuring she couldn’t see through the bottom hem. A brush of warmth to her left told her another person had joined them, the scent of clove, leather, and clean sweat telling her it wasn’t Sev. A pair of large, rough hands grabbed her upper arm hard enough to bruise, making her wince and flinch away from them, her husband’s tendency to grab her in a similar manner rising in her mind. There was a muffled grunt that prompted them to loosen slightly, making her relax though her heart continued to beat wildly in her chest. As peculiar as this event was, it did appear that Sev wouldn’t allow any harm to come to her, at least not yet.

“Shroud.” She heard Sev mutter as the familiar slippery coolness of shadow magic slid across her skin. For a moment, the dark black and violet of shadow magic cascaded across the tendrils that hung on her shoulders, granting a small amount of light in the folds of the hood. The hands around her arm tugged her, forcing her to pick up her heavy skirts to keep from tripping as they began making their way back through the graveyard. The person leading her was careful to navigate her around most hazards, though she stumbled slightly several times when she failed to lift her feet high enough to compensate for the uneven terrain. A scrape of stone on itself broke through her frustration at not being allowed to see as Sev muttered somewhere near her right ear,

“Stairs, twelve of ‘em.” There was a crackle of a torch being lit nearby, the sharp scent of flaming resin making her eyes water, though no light penetrated the cloth that surrounded her face. The hands on her arm shifted as they tugged again, guiding her safely down the stairs as she silently counted to ensure she wouldn’t stumble and fall. Whoever it was that was leading her was certainly not Sev, nor Tyr. His hands had been encased in fingerless leather gloves, while the ones around her arm were bare and rough with callouses. The five fingers eliminated it being several of the Horde races, though she could sense a small amount of fel coursing under their skin. The chittering squeaks of a colony of bats overhead broke her line of thought and was soon drowned out by the sound of rushing water somewhere off to her left, though she was being guided off to the right.

“Broken flooring here, five paces.” Sev’s voice was only slightly louder than the roaring water. “Lift those skirts higher.” Lyra bit back a pity response but complied, stumbling and nearly falling as her soft slippers caught on an unexpected chunk of stone. A gloved hand catching her right elbow surprised her as Sev steadied her, preventing her from falling. It was a brief, but appreciated touch while she got her feet under her again. She heard him sigh as they continued on, though the many twists and turns of their journey soon had her hopelessly lost. Some of the tunnels they followed echoed with the sounds of rushing water and scents she decided were better left unnamed, though most were completely empty of sound and moisture. A few chambers made their footsteps echo loudly, making her wonder exactly how much of a labyrinth the underbelly of the magical city truly was, and how much the Kirin Tor was truly aware of.

Occasional directions from Sev continued, as did his occasional assistance, though their companion stayed mostly silent besides an occasional muttered comment to Sev or muffled grunt as he navigated her through what she assumed were the sewers of Dalaran. What little she caught of his accent marked him as sin’dorei, from the rustic parts of Eversong Wood. When they squeezed through a tunnel that forced his arm to brush against hers, she felt rough spun cotton and soft leather against her skin. A rough man, she decided, someone who worked hard for a living. Someone clearly part of the Uncrowned, but not the same caliber of rogue as Tyr or Sev.

They entered yet another echoing chamber right as she began to notice an ache building in her legs and feet from the long walk across broken and uneven surfaces. Her toes ached where she had stubbed them over unforeseen obstacles, making her irritable. The hands on her arm stopped her, letting go of her for the first time since they had left the graveyard. There was a splash as the torch was extinguished, making her wonder if a door had been opened somewhere.

“Wait here,” a rich baritone murmuring in her ear surprised her, but confirmed the snippets of accent that she had picked up from the mysterious man. There was a slight creaking noise as a door was opened somewhere nearby, a press of scents and sounds assaulting her even in her blindness, confusing her. The hands grabbed her once again and led her forth toward the noise and bustle that seemed unnaturally loud in the depths of the sewers.

Voices and the sound of people going about their business surrounded her, languages from all around Azeroth mingling into an unfathomable din as they passed through the crowd. There were snickers and mocking calls about her as she was led through, though her companions remained silent. There were several greetings for the “Raven” and “Professor,” indicating that code names were the normal here. It made her smile, glad the hood shrouded her features. Despite his pretenses at being an unlikable grump, it was clear Sev was respected here. Clean water, roasting meat, bitter spirits, and the acrid tang of poisons and gunpowder warred with a lingering odor of mildew, leather, and dust. It wasn’t unpleasant, though it certainly was unique. There was a bang somewhere up ahead, making her flinch, as the sound of multiple voices shouting in anger at the culprit rose. Several times she felt a light brush against her belt purse that were met with muffled sounds of someone getting cuffed, making her promise herself to thank her mysterious guardian and Sev for keeping her belongings safe during this odd kidnapping. The sound of their feet clattering across a wooden platform surprised her, but the new pair of calloused hands softly taking a hold of her right arm somehow didn’t. When the familiar shape of the wire charm bracelet she had made Tyr pressed against her skin, she breathed a sigh of relief, comforted that another friend was there. Tyr would never allow anything bad to happen to her.

“Almost there, love,” the buccaneer muttered in her ear. The stranger’s hands flexed against her opposite arm, as if the owner were surprised that Tyr was addressing her so freely. The distant sound of golden coins cascading over one another was followed by hooting laughter that nearly drowned out his next words. “You’re crazy, you know that?” 

“You must finally be rubbing off on me, then.” She murmured back, lightly brushing the back of her hand against his leg to show she was pleased that he was there. He chuckled and tsked her as she was led through another creaking door and down yet another set of stairs into a room that was oddly still and silent compared to the previous chamber. Tyr gave her arm one last reassuring squeeze before the hood was unceremoniously whisked off of her head, leaving her blinking in the sudden onslaught of light. The sin’dorei to her left bowed slightly to her when she offered him a soft thank you for his guidance, one ruddy fist over his heart. His brunette ponytail fell over his shoulder becomingly, the dark brown hair streaked with highlights from long hours in the sun. She recognized him as the man who lived in the townhouse connected to her own, a professor and archeologist who was often away more than he was home. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he gave her a sly smile loaded with irony before leaning against the far wall, partially concealed by the shadows. Tyr blew her a kiss as she fixed her hair before settling himself on a stack of crates in the corner, propping his boots up as he pulled out a knife and a small wheel of cheese. Sev leaned on the pile beside him, his face still obscured by his mask, though he kept his hard eyes on Lyra’s face as she settled herself before the stranger who dominated the room.

“Sinnlyra Voidsinger.” The stranger had a commanding voice, one that immediately drew attention to the speaker. It was lightly cultured, but strong enough to cut through the clashing roar of a battlefield. Lyra blinked and met the steely gaze of the older human gentleman who carried himself with the same effortless grace as her friends. Despite his apparent age, it was clear he was vigorous and strong as they, despite the long grey hair and austere wrinkles that wreathed his eyes. She recognized the slim black folio he carried in his knife scarred hands as being a dossier of information, and glanced at Sev. He blinked slowly in return like one of his cats, confirming her suspicions. He had provided information about her to the Uncrowned, whether she liked it or not.

“Sinnlyra Voidsinger, nee Lightsworn, nee Dawnhope,” the man continued as he read from pages within the folio. She recognized him, not as one of her customers, but as someone who always appeared to be lurking about the edges of the many social gatherings she had been invited to as a socialite. “Tailor of some esteemed reputation with the nobility of the Alliance, a warlock of some impressive talents, though you choose not to make it known, formerly a quel'dorei, now ren'dorei. Daughter of Belric and Velanore Dawnhope, a professor and former lady’s maid turned tailor, both deceased. Once married to one Lanthon Lightsworn, first a priest, then a paladin after the sacking of Silvermoon, deceased. Mother of Perinth Lightsworn, a student of arcane magic, also deceased. Kin to both the Dawnhope and Lightsworn families, mostly all deceased during the Scourge attack by Arthas Menethil against Silvermoon. Sister-in-law to the scholar and apparent Twilight’s Hammer agent Caemil Lightsworn, who is missing and presumed deceased.” The man glanced sharply at Sev, who remained motionless. Lyra exhaled slowly, wondering why Sev had not mentioned her hand in Caemil’s disappearance and death. 

“Most recently, you have been seen in the company of Alvenyr Moonsorrow, Sevarith Moonsorrow, Tyrvalin Duskmourn, and several other members of the faction that opposes your own. All, so far, still alive.” He snapped the folio shut, his lips twitching as he repressed a grim smile. “It appears death follows in your wake, Mistress Voidsinger.”

There was no polite way to respond to that sally, so she merely bowed her head slightly, folding her hands neatly before her to hide the tremor of nerves that had set in while listening to him recounting the many deaths that surrounded her life. The mention of Alvenyr, Sev, and Tyr’s names as the sole living people in her life made a tiny fissure of fear tear at her heart. Would they, too, pay the ultimate price for their involvement with her? As if he could hear her thoughts, Sev shifted, pulling a cigarette out and raising it to his lips. His eyes glowed red a moment when the match flared to life in the dim room. He noticed it too, she thought, though Tyr appeared oblivious as he inspected his knife for any signs of poison before carving a wedge off of the cheese in his hands.

“We are told by the Raven that you wish to join our ranks. Rum has confirmed this.” The man continued, placing the folio on the long table ringed with chairs that was one of the sole pieces of furniture in the room. He leaned a hip against it as he picked up a glass of wine and regarded her over the rim for a moment before taking a sip, swirling the liquid as he considered her. “You, Mistress Voidsinger, have been vouched for by several high ranking members of our organization, whether you are aware of it or not. More than most of our new recruits, in fact. On paper you have led a rather unremarkable life up until your disappearance and subsequent reappearance a few years ago. Your actions since then have been an entirely different story. Tell me, in your own words, why you seek to partner with us?”

“Surely we can forego the formality of feigned ignorance as to why I seek an alliance with the Uncrowned, sir.” Her reply was polite, though she kept a note of steel in her voice. The professor smirked slightly as he removed a flask from his hip and took a sip, the green of his eyes glowing slightly brighter for a moment before he capped it. Tyr flicked a piece of cheese into a corner, which was met by a happy squeak as a rat crawled out from a crack in the wall in order to retrieve it. “Surely that folio contains more information than merely my family history, knowing how thorough the Raven is with his information gathering. You are aware that my home was once in the possession of my father-in-law, who made his fortune through the black market. You are also aware that when he gifted the home to my late and unlamented husband that it was closed off to you, though I will not speculate why. We both know it would be beneficial to the both of us for your organization to restore the safe house and storage area beneath my home…” She paused a moment, weighing the risks, before adding, “My Lord Ravenholdt.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sev tense, though Tyr silently applauded her from his stack of crates, careful not to disturb the pair of rats who had come to rest on his lap. Her neighbor covered his mouth with a hand to hide a laugh, his green eyes sparkling at her audacity. She knew it was a risk to name Lord Ravenholdt, but if he was going to needle her with details of her past, there was no reason for her to not pay him back in kind. The silver haired lord of Ravenholdt Manor stared at her for a long moment before breaking into a slight chuckle, the crow’s feet around his sharp eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Normally it would be considered bad manners to name your compatriots, but I believe that it can be excused just this once.” His voice was kind, though she heeded the warning in his words. “Our methods require secrecy, and we prefer to work within the shadows where our identities will not be revealed, though we do often require those who are not to assist us with our work.”

“Your inviting me here for this conversation tells me that you require my services in some capacity, my lord.” Lyra replied pleasantly, as if this conversation were happening in a ballroom instead of the underbelly of Dalaran. “Although something tells me that I have been assisting your organization rather informally for the past several years without my knowledge thanks to my relationship with these two.” Tyr smacked Sev’s arm and gestured to him, prompting him to sigh and drop a small pouch of coins in his hand. Lord Ravenholdt watched the exchange, his lips twitching into a smile, confirming her suspicions. She had known that they had been using her gossip about her clients as information for whatever organization they were both a part of, though she was not upset or put out by it. It was the reality of being close friends with those who worked in the shadows. Many of her clients deserved to be robbed of their fortunes, she thought, irritated at the extravagant lifestyles many of them lived while children went hungry in the streets. It did not bother her in the slightest that she was an unwitting accomplice to any robberies that might have occurred against several of her more uppity clients.

“And yet it would be a risk to bring you in. You are hunted by facets of an exceptionally powerful organization, one that has seen a resurgence thanks to the rise of the Black Empire.” Lord Ravenholdt pointed out mildly as he swirled the wine in his goblet. Even he was unwilling to name the Old God that was behind the Twilight’s Hammer. To invoke the Corruptor’s name was to turn his gaze upon the speaker, Lyra thought as a chill ran down her spine. She had drawn his gaze one too many times for comfort. “There are risks with such an alliance, as you are surely aware.”

“As you said, my lord, I am… How did you phrase it?” Lyra cocked her head to the side, favoring him with a benevolent smile. “A ‘warlock of rather impressive talents’? You would gain all of my skills, plus a powerful ally and protector at your doorstep, despite the risks. Just as I would gain protectors at my back to prevent any mishaps from said organization.” There would be a test in this, she realized ruefully as the conversation circled around to her powers. Sev and Tyr had only seen small displays of her abilities, though Alv had been pushing her to the limits of her power on the training grounds. The whispers in her mind confirmed her suspicions, alerting her to the presence of a stranger in the room behind her. Slowly, she began gathering her powers around her, keeping them wrapped tightly to her body like a second skin, hoping no one would notice. Sev’s eyes glittered, though she didn’t see him reach for any weapons. There was no getting anything past him ever, she thought, amused. Tyr pointedly ignored everything, speaking softly to the pair of rats in his lap, though she knew he’d be quick enough to defend himself if he felt it was necessary.

“And yet you remain content to be viewed as a simple tailor.” Lord Ravenholdt’s curiosity was palpable, his surprise at her choice of profession clear. She eyed his clothing professionally as she continued to subtly gather her power, trying to identify who had created it. It was well made, created to withstand a rough and tumble lifestyle, though it was beginning to show wear about the hems and seams. When he turned to place his goblet on the table, she caught a glimpse of wear on his pants, indicating he spent long hours seated, either in a saddle or chair. His boots were of the highest quality leather, sporting the same thin sole as Sev’s, though small splatters of dried mud showed that he did spend some time in the field. It raised her estimation of him. This was a man who wasn’t just content to lead from behind, but would take charge and do whatever he deemed necessary for the good of his organization.

“I enjoy my work, my life, the business I have built for myself. I see no need to seek glory and fame through adventuring.” It was an honest reply, an easy truth to confess. “There is satisfaction in my work, and I am exceptionally good at it. There is beauty in what I create, whether it be a simple shirt meant to conceal weapons, or an extravagant wedding dress meant to grace the aisles of the most esteemed chapels of Azeroth.” From the appraising look the lord gave her, she knew her appearance had been measured and found satisfactory. It was gratifying, though it did nothing to distract her from the presence of the person behind her. There was a faint scent of herbs where none had been present before, though her would-be assailant likely was unaware he had given himself away. Just like Alv taught you, she thought as she feigned a moment of inattention, allowing a pair of arms to grab her and press a knife to her throat.

She gave Lord Ravenholdt a polite smile that would put any courtier to shame, then released all of the energy she had gathered around herself into the room.

A choker of void crystals, their razor sharp edges flashing in the scant light, surrounded her throat, giving her a measure of protection from the knife. Several portals to the Twisting Nether opened, her demons pouring through one by one to take up guard positions around the men in the room. When her attacker flinched as one of the shards nicked his skin, she drove more crystal spikes into his flesh, making him hiss with pain. To his credit, he didn’t release her, instead going completely still as blood began pouring from his wounds. Her massive felhunter, Lukuun, growled menacingly as he approached them both, the magic eating tentacles on his back whipping wildly. Above her, she heard a dismayed hiss, though she didn’t dare take her eyes off of Lord Ravenholdt, who watched the spectacle with barely concealed amusement.

There was a pause as she waited patiently for his response, the soft chime of more crystals growing around her body and the unhappy growls of her demons the only sound in the room. A vilefiend slobbered next to the lord, the acid of its maw hissing as it dripped onto the stonework beneath their feet. Lyra glanced around and tried not to be exasperated when she saw that Pipbis had climbed onto Tyr’s lap with the rats and was begging for a piece of cheese rather than guarding her. Sev had two knives out, exchanging steely glares with the felguard that stood before him, though she knew that he knew she considered him the greatest threat in the room. Her felstalkers had cornered the professor, their growls reverberating throughout the room, though he had not reached for any weapons of his own. Instead, he knelt, staring down the boney skulls of the creatures before him, mindful of their snapping maws. Lyra waited, feeling the man behind her trying to maneuver himself away from the crystals she knew would disappear any moment while still holding onto her, hoping Lord Ravenholdt would end this charade soon.

“Impressive,” he said finally, waving a hand at the man who held her captive. “Let her go, Flame. Mistress, you have proven your point.” He glanced at the vilefiend, who hissed at him, a bubble of acid burbling from behind its daggered teeth. “Most impressive.”

“You must forgive me a moment of hubris when I say it was rather obvious there would be a test, my lord.” She waved her own hand, calling off her minions, sending them back into the Nether through the portals from whence they came. Pip chittered his thanks to Tyr and patted its new friends on the head before disappearing through another portal, much to the rats’ disappointment. Lukuun snarled at the stranger that released her, though she calmed him by touching his massive skull with two fingers. “Do I have more of these little exercises to look forward to in the future, or was one display enough?” She turned slightly to face the man who had attacked her, the void crystals that had surrounded her fading as her resolve did. He grinned down at her, his tattooed face looking less fierce than he clearly intended it to despite his injuries. A brightly colored fairy dragon drifted down from the rafters above them, hissing in Lyra’s face, his tiny fangs inches from her blind eye. Lukuun’s snarl magnified, warning him not to toy with her, though the tiny spark of color did nothing to show it heard.

“Bad lady!” He hissed at her, his tiny voice loaded with anger. Lyra took a step back when he spoke, surprised that the creature had the ability to talk. “Nasty trick!”

“Hey, Flick, leave off, she was just defending herself.” The dragon turned and landed on one of the man’s pauldrons, his hiss turning to croons of concern as he rubbed his scaled face against the bearded, tattooed cheek of his night elf friend. He was a young kaldorei, though she had learned long ago that the previously immortal race was difficult to determine proper ages for. His lilac hair was tied up in a messy bun that only got messier when the dragon landed on the top of his head, his wings draping down protectively over his ears. Lyra wondered how he had lost half of one of them, though he seemed undisturbed by the loss. One of his eyes was red, clearly damaged by the scars that ran across his face and nose. A man who had lived a hard life, she decided.

“I do apologize for the injuries,” Lyra said regretfully, fishing in her belt purse for a roll of enchanted bandages she kept on her person for when she needed to conduct blood rituals. He accepted them with a cheeky smile, unrolling them to wrap the lacerations she had given him.

“‘S alright, beautiful.” He drawled, pushing a strand of lilac hair out of his face. The dragon hissed again as he inspected some of the wounds she had given him. “Not every day I get to flirt with a pretty lady at knifepoint. Maybe next time we tangle in the future it can be with less clothin-”

“That will be all, Flame, thank you. Go get those wounds looked at. The Steel Flower is here, she will patch you up.” Lord Ravenholdt snapped, putting an end to the man’s uncouth commentary. The man called Flame winked at her again before turning to leave the room, his tiny fairy dragon friend turning where he perched in his hair so he could hiss at her one last time. She sighed, turning back to the rest of the men in the room, displeased with the blood staining her dress. Tyr softly shooed the rats off of his lap, rising to stretch lazily, reaching into another pocket to pull out strips of dried meat. Lukuun whined at her side, looking from her to Tyr, clearly wanting to go see his friend.

“Some guard dog you are,” she muttered, giving him the signal that he could go greet Tyr. Sev slowly closed his eyes, sliding his knives back into their sheaths as he watched his lover turn the massive felstalker into a slobbering, wiggling, delighted mass of scales and claws on the floor. “It would be a sad day for all of us if I ever commanded him to attack you.”

“Nah, he’d do it, wouldn’t you Lukuun? Who’s a good boy who will rip our faces off? You are!” Lyra suppressed a giggle as Tyr fed him the treats, exchanging amused glances with the professor and lord who watched the exchange with amusement. 

“You’re going to spoil him,” she informed her friend as he stood, rubbing demon slobber off his hands.

“He deserves it,” he protested as he heeded Sev’s grunted summons and went back to his post on the crates. “He was about to rip Flame a new one before he was called off.” The other sin’dorei in the room cleared his throat, the first sound he had made since this strange meeting began. It drew everyone’s attention to him, making Lyra wonder what had prompted it.

“There’s other benefits, my lord, as we discussed,” he began. His light baritone was extremely pleasant to listen to, Lyra realized. “She’s a tailor, and it would be beneficial to have her on hand not only as a craftswoman, but a consultant as well. You know nobles don and doff fashion at the drop of a hat, and she has to keep up with whatever the trends are to stay competitive. That would be useful for us, Jorach.”

“You cannot pretend that you do not have agents scattered high and low that would sometimes need assistance blending in. I have the skills and knowledge to provide insights and the latest trends as needed.” Lyra agreed, giving her neighbor a grateful nod for chiming in. She hadn’t expected him to offer any insights, or to have any knowledge of her at all. When she had been married to Lanthon, she had mostly kept to herself, not associating with anyone in their neighborhood for fear of her husband’s reprisal. He had been a quiet, unassuming neighbor then, and continued to be one now. Lukuun settled next to her, panting slightly as he nosed the bloody stain that was beginning to soak into the black velvet of her dress.

“That is a fair point,” Lord Ravenholdt reluctantly replied. “There are certain things nobility know almost instinctively that make people stand out, and many of our noble agents are… Well. A tailor that caters specifically to their class and keeps up with those trends and silly details would be useful for even them.” He rubbed his eyes before glancing up at her. “I will admit that I do not pay much attention to what occurs in those circles, and cannot always provide or pass information needed to keep our people from being noticed as outsiders.”

“I will be happy to assist them.” Lyra replied softly, stroking the skull of the felstalker beside her. “Those trivial details are what keep me in business, and are easily influenced and manipulated by certain members of the peerage. Many of them are my clients, so I have better insights into those particular fripperies than others.” Tyr leaned against Sev, who pretended to ignore him even as he whispered something in his ear. The professor pushed himself off the wall and came to stand next to her, leaning down slightly to look her over.

“You’ve manipulated trends yourself before,” he pointed out, amused. His cotton shirt had a loose seam at the shoulder, making her fingers itch to fix it. “Often I’ll see something you’ve worked on being imitated even by my students, though you may not be aware of it.” 

“Haute couture tends to trickle down, though it gets changed to be more accessible for those who cannot afford my prices.” It was a trend she had noticed herself, though Sev had glowered over the calls for raven feathers after the last fashion craze she had inspired. 

“Her normal stuff is good to go, too.” Tyr offered. They both glanced over at him as he plucked his and Sev’s shirts, ignoring the grumblings of the tall man by his side. “She’s made these for us, so it ain’t just the snooty rogues who’ll benefit. How many of these can you make a week, lovely?” Lyra did some calculations in her head, humming slightly to herself as she did. 

“That depends. If the Uncrowned provides materials and I am unfettered by other commissions, I’d say….” She was interrupted by the door behind them creaking open, an imperious and rather querulous voice echoing down the passageway.

“Mistress Voidsinger will have the full support of the black market.” Recognition hit her as she turned and curtsied respectfully to the austere Pandaren woman who glided down the stairs flanked by a hulking bodyguard. Madam Goya returned her greeting with a traditional bow of her own when she reached the bottom of the stairs, reaching out to pat Lyra’s cheek affectionately after. Lyra snapped her fingers at Lukuun, bringing him to heel so he would not interfere with the dangerous madam of the black market. The professor that had been discussing her skills bowed and backed away, giving both women space.

“Madam Goya, it is always a pleasure.” Lyra murmured respectfully, meaning the words sincerely. She was pleased to see that the Pandaren was wearing one of her creations, a traditional silk dress in muted violets and silvers that matched her fur beautifully. The embroidered phoenixes had been a joyous challenge for her, each feather carefully picked out in different shades of silver and grey so they practically shimmered in flight. Madam Goya had been delighted by the effect, praising the work so much that she had ordered more dresses on the spot. Lyra soon noticed she had better choices from her suppliers, ones she hadn’t even been aware existed, after mentioning her struggles with finding quality goods in Dalaran over tea with the madam. The woman hadn’t said a word, and neither had Lyra, though she suspected she had a hand in that development.

“Let her join us, Jorach. I have use for her.” The lord sighed, opening his hands in a pleading gesture at being addressed. Eyes the color of cloudy jade narrowed at him, the delicate ears flicking irritably before he could even voice a protest.

“Madam, you know that we must-” Once again, she cut him off, the annoyance in her voice hinting at a temper as violent as it was deep.

“Yes, I am aware of what you ‘must do’. Mistress Voidsinger has the skills and position in society that I can use. She is the perfect front for our ventures. No one will suspect her involvement with us. Our people have been watching her for weeks, ever since I first commissioned her. Oristin lives in the townhouse beside her, giving her someone else who is part of our organization to rely on if needed.” Lyra’s neighbor made a small sound of protest at his real name being used, but was silenced when Madam Goya’s hired muscle glared at him and cracked the knuckles on one meaty paw. 

“Her other neighbors suspect nothing, and are incurious themselves to never give her a second glance. Her clients, both here and back in Stormwind, suspect nothing despite the information she has passed of them to us. We have ensured countless times that she is a protected source, or have you forgotten that? She is respected for her craft, a diligent worker, and is clever enough to keep her head down and out of trouble.” The Pandaren hid her paws within the billowing sleeves of her gown, making Lyra wonder if she had weapons hidden there. From the look Sev was giving her, she was willing to bet she did. Lyra hadn’t considered making women’s fashion to accommodate knife sheaths and blades before, but now it sparked inspiration. It would have to wait, however, while her future was being debated.

“But what of the Twilight’s Hammer, Madam? Surely you do not expect-” Lyra almost felt sorry for Lord Ravenholdt when Madam Goya snapped at him, interrupting his question.

“We have the necessary tools to deal with that particular problem. Crétin is one of my agents and is familiar with her assailants. I will handle it if you will not.” The Pandaren’s ears flicked, showing irritation that she was being debated over something she viewed as a petty matter. “The Uncrowned protects its own, and I dare say we’d lose all credibility if we were unable to handle a few simple cultists.” Lyra shuddered, thinking of the assault that had left her helpless and under the control of a man more Void than elf. She was still plagued by nightmares of tentacles and the scent of sea rotten flesh after long, stressful days. Even having Alv by her side did nothing to dispel the concern that someday, she would once again find herself walled off from her memories and power, a shell of her former self.

“She’s got you there, Jorach.” Oristin pointed out, though Tyr and Sev remained silent where they stood opposite him. Sev was watching the exchange with his usual inscrutable expression, though Tyr followed it animatedly, his grin at the drama unfolding before him infectious. Lyra kept her head bowed respectfully, but couldn’t help but shoot him a wink when their eyes met. Madam Goya was as determined as Lord Ravenholdt was stubborn, it seemed. “To add to the argument, it wasn’t your trade that suffered the loss of the safe house. It was ours.”

“Bring her in, Ravenholdt.” Everyone was startled when Sev’s gravelly voice cut through the room like a knife. He shrugged, not offering any other comments, though Lyra suspected he had already said quite a bit on her behalf before this unusual meeting. Tyr elbowed him, grinning up at his lover, pleased he had offered an opinion. Lord Ravenholdt sighed and rubbed his eyes again before looking at Tyr.

“Do you have an opinion you’d like to voice on the matter, Rum?” Tyr gave him a mischievous smirk, flipping a dagger out.

“If you were in the mood to listen I could chat your ear off all day about why this is a good thing. Bring her in, your lordliness. She’s a steadfast and stalwart person to have at your back.” He pointed the dagger at her, ignoring the bristling warnings from the bodyguard behind Madam Goya. “Admit it, you’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a while, ever since we first started bringing you info she was telling us.” Lord Ravenholdt sighed, but finally relented, his rueful smile telling her that he had indeed been waiting for this day for some time.

“Very well, Mistress Voidsinger. You’ll be leaving today for training, if you agree to join our merry band of criminals and n'ere dowells. We’re aware you have no commissions pending and no other responsibilities holding you back at the moment, so we’d like to get you started as soon as possible.” Lyra felt rooted by the shock of the news that she would be leaving that day. Part of her had realized that training would be inevitable, but the day she was accepted into the Uncrowned? Her thoughts flashed to Alv immediately.

“Today?” Lyra struggled to hide her dismay. It stood to reason that she would be unable to say goodbye to Alvenyr, or tell him where she was going, but she felt a tremendous amount of regret that she would be disappearing entirely on him. “Will I be given time to pack?”

“Everything you need will be provided for you.” Madam Goya said stiffly, giving her a stern look that booked no argument. “Your training is of the utmost importance, so there can be no delays. Not even for… Other attachments.” She knew, Lyra realized, she knew how much Alv meant to her. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but it disturbed her that these dangerous people knew how attached she was to him, even if he himself was unaware of it. He could be used against her in the future. The Pandaren patted her cheek again, a flash of understanding there. Alvenyr had made it clear he would never interfere with her decisions, so long as she wasn’t put in harm’s way. She was about to put that to an extreme test. 

“Very well, Madam. I will go.” It was a wonder her voice didn’t register any of the tumultuous emotions she was experiencing. Sev lit another cigarette, jerking his chin up to bring her attention to him. Tyr shrugged, propping one foot on a crate so he could lean an elbow on it. Madam Goya nodded to them both, acknowledging their desire to speak with her before she left.

“Say goodbye to your friends, Mistress Voidsinger. Oristin, Jorach, with me. There are things we need to discuss before we leave. Once you have settled things with those two miscreants, join us above. We will portal to our destination from there.” Madam Goya snapped her fingers and began to walk sedately back up the stairs, her bodyguard falling neatly in place behind her like a well-oiled automaton. Lukuun whined up at Lyra as she watched them go, conflicted over being swept up in events she could no longer control. Lord Ravenholdt and Oristin followed, the latter giving Lyra a firm clasp on her shoulder as he passed.

“Be seeing you soon, Mistress.” He said lightly, giving her a friendly smile as he followed his compatriots out of the room. “Send yon demon back to the Nether, there’ll be no need for him where we’re going. You’ll be safe enough.” She nodded, watching him go before dismissing Lukuun with a final pat. He whined, making her heart ache as she watched him crawl through the portal with trepidation.

“Tyr-” She began once the dog was gone, turning to her friends who had remained silent during the last part of the exchange.

“We’ll let him know you’re safe, love.” Tyr said quietly, understanding the cause of her distress immediately. He shoved off his crates to join her, smoothing her hair with a gentle hand. “You warned him about this, didn’t you?”

“Only in the vaguest terms,” she replied softly, touching the still damp blood on her dress. There would be no saving it now, no matter how long it soaked. How strange, that she had started the day among the dead and was now soaked in the blood of the living. It was downright macabre. Shaking herself mentally, she realized important information had been omitted in her briefing. “How long will I be gone?”

“Six to eight weeks.” Sev pushed off the wall to join them, a cloud of smoke billowing away from his face as he answered. He had relaxed once the others had disappeared upstairs, she realized belatedly. So, it wasn’t her he didn’t trust, she thought, slightly pleased and yet a little offended that he didn’t view her as a threat despite her display of power earlier. “Depends on how fast you learn and what they want of you.” 

“Knowing you, it’ll be closer to six, Grey Lady.” Tyr offered, ignoring the blood as he drew her in for a hug. “Alv’s disappeared for longer than that before. Don’t you fret, love. He can handle it.” But can I, she wondered as she returned his embrace, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see the cutting look Sev was giving her. Sometimes she wondered if Sev knew exactly what her feelings for her brother were, even if she refused to acknowledge them openly herself.

“Go on, get.” Was all he said when she finally pushed away from Tyr. It had already been a long day, though it appeared it was just beginning. Her feet and legs had begun to ache slightly after the long climb through the underbelly, and judging by the knowing glance Sev had given her, he knew. Small wonder he was attempting to get her on her way.

“I am not one of your cats, Sevarith, you cannot make me.” She replied sternly, though she grinned at him to show him she was joking. There was a slight sparkle in his eyes, just a hint of laughter. As much as they seemed to annoy one another, she hoped the camaraderie and oddly comfortable friendship they shared wouldn’t change despite her new association with the Uncrowned.

“We’ll keep an eye on the place, Lyra.” Tyr’s blithe tone didn’t fool her for a second. When she glared at him, he gave her a look full of innocence, his eye going wide. Sev snorted, shaking his head as he ashed his cigarette onto the stone floor. They both knew he’d be all over her house going through her drawers again the second he knew she was safely away. “What? You know you can trust me.”

“No stealing from my workshop, Tyr. I need those supplies, especially now that I’m working with the pair of you.” She warned him, wagging a finger in his face. He caught it between his teeth and growled playfully until she lightly flicked one of his ears with her free hand. “And you will certainly not be going through my drawers again.” Sev clouted him on the shoulder, making Tyr wince. 

“What? I was doing reconnaissance!” He complained, rolling his arm. Sev’s glare didn’t falter, nor did Lyra’s. She had caught him one too many times looking through her drawers, though he wouldn’t say for what. Judging by the feral grin he had given her when he had been caught, she had a feeling he was holding any discovery he might make over Alv’s head. Tyr looked between the two of them, realizing he was well and truly caught, finally muttering, “Alright, alright, I won’t steal anything or snoop in her drawers.” 

“Thank you, love. There is a nice bottle of rum in the upper left hand cabinet that I had been saving for you.” She kissed his cheek, already missing her mischievous friend. The bubble of nerves she had kept a chokehold on in her heart were beginning to break free, though she was loath to show it before them. Instead she chose to joke, trying to ease her anxiety. “Please don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” 

“You do love me,” he teased, kissing her forehead one last time before giving her a small shove toward the door. “Go on, now, Grey Lady. We’ll see you when we see you.” Lyra laughed, but turned back one last time, making sure Sev’s attention was on her.

“Thank you.” She said softly, knowing he would catch the nuance behind the words more than Tyr would. With that, she turned and began making her slow way up the stairs to meet her new associates, unsure if she was prepared for whatever they had prepared for her.


End file.
